


Royal Pain

by Meredydd



Series: Boredom Reigns [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meredydd/pseuds/Meredydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuing journal entries of Lizzie and her quest to NOT be bored, and to catch Sherlock and John in the act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Royal Pain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



> Yep, it's a series now, lol!
> 
> This entry isn't heavy on the sexytimes, but the next one, Lizzie has some *things* to relate to her diary. This one is a bit of set up for that, though.
> 
> As always, undying thanks to AtlinMerrick for giving me the idea and being encouraging!
> 
> And HUGE thanks to everyone who commented and 'liked' the first entry!

  **November 29**

I hate English weather. There. I've said it. So sue me.

**December 1**

Apparently, One can be sued when One makes such comments in front of media types. We have issued an apology and We are sorely missing being legally allowed to backhand idiots without consequence.

Note to self: Ask Holmes the Elder if that can be made a law.

Note to self the second: Ask Holmes the Elder if I can bring back the guillotine.

**December 2**

Cannot bring back guillotine, but he promised me he would check into the chopping block. Verified he meant the nice, big one with the axe and all, not just a new kitchen accoutrement.

Those do go in the kitchen, yes? Last time I was in the kitchen, it was some publicity thing and I fear I started some odd fad for lime whip.

I have no idea what I'm doing in the kitchen.

The granddaughter-in-law has informed me her PA has gone missing. Suspect she gave up trying to convince GDIL to stop wearing nude tights. Really, even I know those are gauche. If I didn't have those veins, I'd go bare legged.

One does not get waxed merely to cover up.

**December 3**  

Willow is dead as a doornail, it seems. Signs point to GDIL being culprit. As the grands would say... lolwut?

Holmes the Elder has assured me things are being kept quiet. And that Cheekbones and Shorty are on their way.

Pip informs me One should not giggle with 'manic glee' at a time like this.

Pip lacks scope.

Pip also lacks trousers. I'm starting to wonder about that man.

**December 3, addendum**

Pip lacks trousers, Cheekbones lacks pants.

Am I a cougar? Rowan (I'm assuming we're on a tree theme now... Note to self: Make law regarding appropriate names of children in My Kingdom. This is ridiculous. What's next? Crepe Myrtle? Pine?) informs me that 'women of a certain age' are called panthers. I think I shall refer to myself as a jaguar.

Pip informs me we have a Pine on staff.

It's too late. Must order law into being so all tree-named individuals change names to something normal. Or at least something less likely to suffer leaf blight.

  
**December 3, addendum the second**

Cheekbones and Shorty are not subtle. Ever since the kiss I witnessed in my chambers, I've been asking for updates from Holmes the Elder. He demures but I have other methods. I have grandchildren who are quite good at the hacking, apparently. CCTV systems... thou are a heartless bitch.

Shorty has been staring at Cheekbone's backside like one of my corgis after a Snausage.

OH! The corgis!

**December 4**

Despite his protestations to the contrary, Cheekbones can and will find One's corgis when one has forgotten them tied to a post outside a pub in Lewisham whilst One was on walkies, having slipped security and donned a rather fetching red bob wig and what I was told was a quite 'retro' coat dress.

I've been alive so long, my wardrobe is fashionable again.

Not that One would do such a thing.

Pip suspects nothing.

Willow is still dead as a doornail. Cheekbones agrees it was murder, Shorty finds him endlessly fascinating, and neither of them is aware of the security camera in the linen cupboard in the west corridor.

I, however, am.

So many thoughts on this...

1.) Shouldn't they be solving Willow's murder? Especially if GDIL is responsible (I sincerely doubt it—she can't even make a sandwich, much less stab someone in the neck).

2.) How can a grown man with trousers that tight get his leg up that high?

3.) Can I save a copy of this to a flash drive thingy? Eugenie assures me it's possible, but I have my doubts.

4.) I learned some new swear words today—Shorty has quite the mouth on him. Makes me proud of our lower classes, really, with their inventive use of My English.

  
  


I should probably not say that in public. Or to Pip. Because he will say that in public. OH! PIP!

  
  


**December 4, addendum**

One does not leave One's consort in a pub in Lewisham.

**December 5**

Was awakened near dawn by Cheekbones standing over Our bed. Pip snores like a...well. Like something loud and snore-y. Cheekbones informs me that the murderer is a member of household staff who was engaging in 'relations' with Willow. Shorty refused to enter Our chambers. He did, however, stand in the corridor and mutter, “I'm going to the Tower, oh fuck me, I'm going to the Tower”.

Note to self: Check possibility of reinstating the Tower as viable punishment.

Note to self 2nd: Actual punishment. Not just forcing people to deal with tourists.

  
  


**December 9**

Cheekbones has refused award. We are offended. Shorty is 'encouraging' him to accept it. Loudly. In the damned linen closet. Am suspecting something has been done to linens to encourage male libido.

Ask Pip to check on linens later.

Note to ask Eugenie and/or Victoria: What, exactly, is rimming? It sounds quite...wet. And loud.

Scratch that. Ask Harry. He knows things.

  
**December 9, addendum**

_Never ask Harry. He knows things._

**December 10**

Amidst the folderol for the holiday season (Scotland is bloody cold! Let them keep it!), Cheekbones cited his religion as the reason he's refusing another reward.

Shorty seems about to burst into flames, if the red color of his face is anything to go by.

Cheekbones is atheist—We reminded him that a large portion of Our kingdom is, as well. He cited being a member of a Khemtic path. We are usually not vulgar—at least not aloud—but We called bullshit.

Cheekbones is receiving the award this evening.

Shorty will be released from the hospital before then, We hope. Bashing one's head on the corner of Our end table is really not well done. Always faint towards soft furnishings.

**December 10, another bit**

Might have had a big more nog than intended in with the egg.

One might also have just had several glasses of eggless nog. With a straw. Shhhh. Pip thinks it's soda.

Pip is drunk.

Have brilliant idea. Cheekbones and Shorty are so helpful, and quite...enthusiastic. It's most entertaining. We are quite bored. Creating new positions for them (ha, Shorty has THAT covered!)--Her Majesty's Private Dicks.

Detectives.

I meant detectives.

Can't wait to see Holmes the Elder's face on this one. It will most certainly happen.

Another note to self: Don't cackle with glee. When One is a queen, cackling is frowned upon.


End file.
